


Protector

by Humbae



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Competent Jaskier | Dandelion, Friendship, Gen, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Whump, Hurt Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Hurt/Comfort, Hypothermia, Pneumonia, Sick Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, taking some liberties with laws of physics etc, the good old blanket scenario, with no actual blankets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:48:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25973158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Humbae/pseuds/Humbae
Summary: Prompt: Geralt gets super hypothermic and sick and needs Jaskier to look after him.Geralt and Jaskier have a portal accident and end up in a frozen wasteland with no shelter or supplies.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 22
Kudos: 151





	Protector

**Author's Note:**

> This is all ShyThrush's fault who prompted me to write about Jaskier taking care of a hypothermic Geralt.  
> Thank you, I had fun! :)

Mages were bad news. Jaskier had always known this, yet he hadn’t protested vehemently enough when one had asked Geralt to do him a favour. They’d been unusually far south, wilting in a blistering heatwave, longing for relief. The mage’s counter-favour of portalling them back to the Northern Kingdoms had been too enticing to resist. Jaskier had enough backbone to admit that he had been the one pushing for them to accept the offer, the cooler climate luring him. And all had gone well, they’d found the artefact the mage was after in a cave infested by some sort of hairy creatures that resisted magical attacks. Geralt had retrieved the item, the mage had been satisfied, and they’d ridden into the shimmering portal he created.

***

Jaskier landed in snow. It was fresh and powdery, with no icy crust. He sank deep enough into the mass of white that he didn’t hit the ground below painfully, although he fell from the height of an average horse. He sat up and wiped his face, looking around. Stars shone from a black sky, giving just enough light that he could see the features of the landscape. The scenery was dominated by snow-covered spruces, and vast fields of pristine snow. Low hills undulated on the horizon. The stillness was undisturbed by wind, giving him an eerie feeling of absolute solitude.

But he shouldn’t be alone. Jaskier stood up, brushing the snow off his trousers. He’d gone through the portal on his horse, with Geralt and Roach by his side. He called for Geralt, but no one answered. Feeling the first tendrils of panic, Jaskier spun around slowly, trying to see something familiar. Behind him was the edge of a forest, the large piles of snow resting on the branches of the trees making it impenetrable for his eyes. He turned back towards the hills. Further study revealed that he was stood almost at the top of one. He rubbed his arms with his hands, trying to keep his circulation going. He would’ve probably been fine with just his undershirt and doublet if he hadn’t been used to the scorching heat of the desert they’d just vacated. Hoping his body would acclimate to the swift change in temperature, he started climbing the hill.

His boots sunk deep into the freshly fallen snow. The resistance against his legs was heavy, forcing him to work hard in order to ascend the short hill. By the time he reached the top, he was out of breath. Below him, he saw a frozen lake. He would’ve mistaken the level expanse of white for a meadow but for the area of broken ice in the middle. He wondered what had crashed into it. The snow around the open water was wet, as if something had fallen from a notable height and caused waves.

“Geralt!” Jaskier shouted and started running down the hill. Considering how he had fallen through the portal, it wasn’t impossible that Geralt had fallen as well, except he’d been unlucky enough to hit ice instead of soft snow. It could’ve been one of their horses as well, but the hole didn’t look big enough to have been made by such a large animal. Jaskier waded through the snow, jumping when he found proper purchase, doing his best to stay upright. A tumble down would probably not hurt him too badly with all the cushioning around, but he didn’t want to risk it. If he was right and Geralt had fallen into the lake, he’d need to be functional, since he feared Geralt might not be.

Jaskier stopped well before reaching what he assumed was the edge of the lake. There was no sign of Geralt, nor evidence that he had crawled out of the hole. Jaskier didn’t know how fragile the ice was, and had no convenient way of testing its strength. Walking on it and getting himself wet would be the dumbest thing he could do. And quite possibly the last. There was nothing around them but forest and hills. Jaskier still had his bag on his back, so he had the means to start a fire, provided he could get the frozen spruce around them to burn. He stepped closer, testing the ground with his toes before putting his full weight on it. He was so focused on advancing carefully that he was violently startled when a splash followed by coughing and spluttering broke the silence of the night.

“Geralt!” Jaskier shouted. He looked up, and saw Geralt clinging to the edge of the ice, gasping for breath. He wanted to run in and help, but he didn’t dare. He might be useless in many things related to survival, but he had also learned a lot during the years of travelling with a witcher. One of the lessons was that one of them had to always have his wits about him. Whether it was Jaskier drunk off his ass and a sober Geralt minding him, or Geralt dead to the world under potent healing potions and Jaskier guarding him, they couldn’t both be incapacitated at the same time if they didn’t want to endanger their lives.

Jaskier squeezed his fingers into fists in frustration as he watched Geralt scramble against the edge that kept breaking under him, trying to climb out of the freezing water. Finally, after his movements had become notably slower, Geralt managed to push himself out and roll onto the ice. Jaskier shouted at him to come closer, and he obeyed, at an alarmingly sluggish pace.

“Come on Geralt, keep moving. You’re going to freeze if you stop.”

Jaskier looked around, trying to see something useful he had missed earlier. Geralt couldn’t stay out in the cold in his wet clothes, but there was nothing but trees, snow and hills around them. Even a cave would’ve helped.

“R-rosem-mary,” Geralt said when he got off the ice. He slumped to the ground at Jaskier’s feet, shivering so hard Jaskier could barely understand him.

“What? Oh shit, did you hit your head when you fell? Geralt?” Jaskier knelt down and shook his shoulder. Geralt shuddered and burrowed deeper into the snow.

“Geralt, do you understand me?”

“Scent,” Geralt mumbled and waved his hand in the direction of the forest behind them. Jaskier looked where he had pointed at, but he couldn’t see anything. For a moment, he was undecided. Geralt was getting colder and fainter by the second, and he had nothing to offer him, not without stripping off his own clothes and thus incapacitating himself. Before making the choice between them, he decided to take a gamble. Geralt wouldn’t be talking idly about plants in the situation, there had to be a reason why rosemary was important. Perhaps it grew near a cave or something. Jaskier stood up and started running towards the forest. He’d take a quick peek, and if he saw nothing significant, he’d come back and do whatever he could to get Geralt warmed up. Even if it meant sacrificing his own wellbeing.

As soon as Jaskier broke through the first snow-laden branches, he found himself in a clearing. In the centre, there was a cabin. He didn’t waste a single moment studying it. Knowing that it had four walls and a roof was good enough, he’d get Geralt inside and ponder their next step after. He ran back to the lake, following his own footsteps in the featureless valley. Geralt had dug himself deeper, only his white hair visible at the top. Jaskier wouldn’t have found him if the disturbed snow hadn’t led him straight to him.

“I found shelter! Come on, get up,” Jaskier said and grabbed Geralt’s arm. The wet sleeve was painfully cold, crackling under his fingers. Geralt got up to his knees but didn’t seem capable of rising further. Jaskier pulled his arm over his shoulders and stood, gasping when his doublet got wet.

“Start walking, it’s not far. I’m really glad you aren’t wearing your armour. Funny how you removed it after the mission because it was too hot, and now not having it on basically saved you from drowning in a frozen lake. By the way, did you see our horses there? I’d hate to think they ended up in the bottom. Maybe they’re somewhere even further away and will find their way to us? How well can horses smell? I bet you could track them better than they can track us. If I had to choose --”

“Shut up,” Geralt muttered. He was leaning his head against Jaskier’s, making their hair freeze together. He still carried most of his own weight, but his knees threatened to buckle with each step. Jaskier looked up towards the forest. It hadn’t felt so far away when he’d run the distance by himself.

“Not far to go,” he said, lowering his voice to hopefully be less grating. He chattered when he was nervous, and he was fully aware of how annoying Geralt found it. At least he was still coherent enough to complain.

The treeline approached slowly. Luckily there was no wind. Jaskier didn’t think he could’ve survived with his now soggy clothes if a breeze had driven the cold in harder. And if he was this chilled from what had soaked into him from Geralt, he couldn’t imagine how miserable Geralt was.

“Almost there,” he said. They could practically touch the trees now, but they’d still have to cross the clearing. Just a few swift steps for someone in prime condition, but dragging a near-insensate witcher through deep snow had Jaskier panting hard before they were even halfway through the distance. The further they got, the less Geralt walked on his own.

“Come on, you big lump, don’t give up,” Jaskier said. He did more dragging than supporting now. Geralt was mumbling quietly, but he couldn’t catch any words. When they finally reached the hut, Jaskier tested the door. It didn’t open when he tried the handle, as he had expected, but the lock looked simple. Jaskier’s gut feeling said the lock was there mostly to keep animals and monsters away. Following the logic, he looked around the surrounding area. If one wasn’t overly worried about burglars, one wouldn’t bother carrying the key around. One would leave it somewhere out of sight, but convenient to grab. Jaskier reached above the doorframe and slid his fingers along it. He was so cold he couldn’t really feel anything in the thin layer of snow gathered there, but he heard it when the metal key plonked down and hit his boot.

“Hah, we humans are predictable, aren’t we?” he said when he picked up the key and inserted it into the lock. It turned smoothly and moments later, they were inside. The temperature wasn’t much higher than outside, but Jaskier saw a fireplace and dragged Geralt towards it. He set him down and looked around for dry firewood. As expected, there was a neat stack right next to the fireplace, accompanied by a set of flint and tinder as well. With experienced hands, Jaskier built a fire and got it going.

“Let’s get out of these wet clothes,” he said. Geralt wasn’t much help in the process. Jaskier had been feeling almost silly with relief after reaching the cabin, but as Geralt didn’t immediately rouse, his tension started to build again. He quickly shook off his doublet and rolled Geralt onto his back. Jaskier cursed as he forced the frozen buckles of Geralt’s boots open, but once he managed them, they slid off easily. Unwrapping the footwraps was unpleasant, mainly because they were soaked and so cold they made his fingers numb. Before he could tackle the trousers, he had to stop and hold his hands up to the flames to revive them.

“Reckon we’ll ever find that mage again? If this was on purpose and not a portal malfunction, I will hunt him down and cut his fingers off for endangering mine. An artist needs his dexterity. My poor, beautiful hands are blue!” Jaskier moaned as he rotated his wrists near the fire. Looking behind him, he saw that Geralt was blinking slowly and looking around. He didn’t appear to be quite there, but he was coming around as the temperature in the cabin slowly rose.

Jaskier tossed another log into the fire, careful not to smother it, and continued his task. Geralt was much more difficult to manoeuvre once he was no longer lying passively but resisting him, not understanding what was happening. Jaskier tried telling him what he was doing and why, but Geralt didn’t seem to be receptive yet.

“Stop wriggling, I have to take your shirt off if you want to warm up again, and I do not want to go through the same hassle I faced when taking your pants off. Geralt, hello, focus!”

“No,” Geralt said and rolled to the side. Jaskier let him go. There was no point in him trying to fight someone who was that much quicker than him, even if a bit sluggish still from the cold. He couldn’t shake the fear either that Geralt might have hit his head when falling and was thus even more addled than the cold could account for.

“You calm now?” Jaskier asked after Geralt stopped moving. “Do you know where we are?”

“J-jaskier?” Geralt asked. He was shivering now, trying to hug himself clumsily. Jaskier sighed in relief and moved closer.

“Yes. Here and present, and trying to save your life. We need to remove your shirt, do you understand what this process involves?”

“Not stupid,” Geralt grumbled. He was nearly incomprehensible with how much his teeth were chattering, but Jaskier understood him anyway.

“I have my doubts,” Jaskier said with a cheeky grin. He lifted Geralt’s arms out of the way and started unbuttoning his shirt. Luckily the tiny buttons weren’t frozen, or had already thawed if they had been. “Why must you insist on wearing shirts with this many buttons. It’s such a bother to open them all.”

“I d-don’t,” Geralt said and mimicked pulling the shirt over his head. Jaskier glared at him, but realised he was right. Apparently Geralt wasn’t the only one not thinking straight. He helped Geralt sit up and finally got rid of the soaked garment. He tossed it in the general direction of the chair he’d spotted and was planning to use as a drying rack later.

“We’ve dallied enough, time to start getting properly warm,” Jaskier said. He shuddered as Geralt leaned against him, the coolness of his bare torso reaching Jaskier even through the undershirt he still wore. Jaskier pulled it off, opting for skin to skin contact.

“Where are we?” Geralt asked. He was shaking violently against Jaskier, nearly knocking them down. Jaskier held him closer to his chest, feeling the heat drain from his body. He looked around to see if there would be a blanket, but the cabin was empty apart from the wooden furniture.

“I have no idea. Somewhere freezing.”

“I gathered t-that much,” Geralt said. He pressed his head against Jaskier’s shoulder, making him gasp when the wet hair brushed his neck. “Horses?”

“Didn’t see them or any sign of them. Once we’re warmed up and our clothes are dry, we can go look for them.”

Geralt grunted in response. He coughed a couple of times and gave such a strong jerk Jaskier had to hold his hand out to balance them. He pulled Geralt’s knees closer to his body and draped his arm over them. They’d have been much better off with a blanket to trap the heat he emanated, but there was not even a rug on the floor to utilise.

“How does your head feel?” Jaskier asked. He couldn’t really see it from his awkward angle, but from the glances he’d caught earlier, he could tell there was no blood at least.

“Fuzzy,” Geralt said after a moment. Jaskier squeezed Geralt’s knees under his elbow and felt his head with his hand. He couldn’t feel any lumps or any evidence of damage there.

“Anything hurting badly?” he asked.

“No, just cold,” Geralt said. He was still shivering and Jaskier wanted to do something more to help him, but he couldn’t pull him any closer, they were already as snug against each other as was physically possible, and the fire was as high as it could be inside the fireplace.

“Just lean into me,” Jaskier said. He was supporting most of Geralt’s weight, one hand holding his knees and the other wrapped around his shoulders. He rocked them a little bit, silently swearing that he was generating heat and not comforting himself like a small child.

“Where are the horses?” Geralt suddenly asked. When he lifted his head to look at Jaskier, he noticed that his eyes were almost closed.

“Sleepy?” Jaskier asked. He had hoped Geralt would perk up as he got warmer, but he seemed to be drifting off instead. The head against his shoulder grew heavier, still twitching on occasion.

“I’ll take that as a yes, little though it pleases me. And to answer your question, I don’t know, as I told you before. Maybe a quick nap will do you good after all.”

In response, Geralt went limp, slumping fully against Jaskier. He didn’t mind, Geralt wasn’t really heavier than him, being all lean muscle and sinew and not an ounce of fat.

“You could do with a bit of blubber,” Jaskier said. He considered himself the more attractive of the two, having softer features and not looking like a half-starved wraith most of the time. But he didn’t consider Geralt ugly or frightening as many people did. He saw the beauty in his unusual eyes and he trusted the experienced grace of his arms. He never felt safer than when he was with Geralt. Even now, lost in a frozen wasteland, with nothing but his backpack and the clothes he’d been wearing, he wasn’t afraid. Geralt might not be at his most coherent at the moment, but once he recovered, he’d get them out of danger. He usually knew where to go, much better than Jaskier’s attempts at navigating by the stars could lead them. And if not, at least they’d be together, gaining strength from the unyielding need to protect the other. Not that Jaskier got to do much protecting, that was typically Geralt’s part, but in quiet moments like these when Geralt was resting, Jaskier was the one in charge. The trust Geralt showed him by allowing himself to fully let go was not lost on him.

The night wore on. Jaskier added more wood to the fire whenever it burned low, and occasionally rubbed Geralt’s fingers and toes, wanting to make sure they hadn’t suffered in the cold. All seemed to be well. He leaned them against the wall at one point, relaxing enough to slip into sleep himself as well. When the darkness started to pass and he could see out through the windows, he realised that he was uncomfortably hot.

“Get off,” Jaskier mumbled, not quite properly awake yet. He pushed Geralt away. When he heard a thud against the floor, his eyes flew open.

“Oh bugger me, sorry!”

Geralt started to cough, clutching his chest weakly. Jaskier waited for him to be done before rolling him onto his back. The glare he received in return was glassy and exhausted. Feeling a sense of dread, Jaskier placed his palm on Geralt’s forehead. As he had feared, it was very warm.

“And that’s how a bad situation becomes really shit,” Jaskier muttered to himself.

“What?” Geralt asked. His voice was barely there.

“Nothing, just rest. I’ll figure something out.”

Jaskier looked around the hut now that he could see it better in daylight. There was only a single room with nothing but the fireplace, a stack of wood, four chairs and a table in it. Up near the ceiling hung several bundles of dried rosemary, filling the room with their fragrance. They would’ve been perfect to season their food with, except they didn’t have any. Jaskier recalled he had half a loaf of stale bread in his pack, but nothing more filling than that.

“Would you be up for walking?” Jaskier asked. Geralt replied by turning on his side, pulling his knees nearly to his chest, and coughing until he was panting for breath. It came with an audible wheeze.

Jaskier stood still, waiting for the fit to pass. The situation was pulling memories from his past, eerily similar. One of his cousins had nearly drowned as a child. She’d been saved in time, but not before she’d inhaled some of the water. She’d died two weeks later, displaying the same symptoms Geralt seemed to be suffering through. Not knowing what to do, Jaskier pulled his clothes back on and went outside. The sun was shining from a cloudless sky, reflecting off the snow around him. His eyes watered from the glare and his nose started to run from the cold breeze hitting him. He might as well have been crying, with how bleak their future appeared. He’d felt positive before, ready to tackle whatever adventure came their way, but only because he would’ve been facing it with Geralt.

“Help me,” he said quietly. He didn’t know who he was asking. Religions had never interested him, and nature could not be begged from. And still, he pleaded, with all his sincerity, that someone or something would aid him. What a useless protector he turned out to be. A pathetic apparition of one, not strong or clever enough to do anything to ease the sickness threatening Geralt. And here he was, crying in the wind alone, when he should be inside, doing what little he could.

Jaskier wiped his nose and opened the door. Geralt was still on the floor, his breathing sounding laboured. Jaskier sat down by him and pulled his upper body to his lap, supporting the head on a raised knee.

“Just keep breathing,” he whispered. “We’ll get through this together.”

Outside, the wind kept howling.

**Author's Note:**

> Edit 17.10.2020: Chapter 2 written by the amazingly talented ShyThrush! Read the conclusion of the story at [Protector II](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26754124/chapters/65945701).


End file.
